Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/66

56 Crack in thy sphere, O Earth, and melt in flame!

'Heirs of the Christ, the lineage of heaven,

Whereto creation works,' great Nature laughs,

'Come, heap the altar of the sacrifice!

Would ye reverse my laws? then taste the doom!'"

"O spirit unfortunate," another spoke,

"Look for no welcome here save to despair;

I hope not, but I yet remember hope,

And do thy faith this reverence"; his voice,

Ceased, but its music lingered in his smile.

"A lover's pains is all I know of hope,"

The Roamer answered; "faithful be we found

Though lost; wherefore, if ever ye held dear

The virtue that, though starvèd in your lives,

May yet on memory's eternal branch

Put forth the green and living leaf, O speak!

So on your graves may my sad laurel lie."

"Italian by thy face," that other said,

"In whose dark eyes relics of hope abide,

Fair must thy story be; let this old wood,

That nightly sighs with sad and wandering tales,

Harbor our sorrows for one cherished hour,

And thou shalt tell us of thy history

And make in turn acquaintance with our woe;

So memory shall endear companionship;

To share another's grief oft heals our own.